


Three of a Masterpiece

by dearxalchemist



Series: The Triumvirate [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Exhaustion, F/M, General fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Post Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re two jagged pieces of a much bigger puzzle, they somehow fit but only with Illya. Alone they are just broken, together as three, they are a masterpiece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three of a Masterpiece

Her ankle is swollen and Illya is carrying her carefully. He’s got a hand hooked under her legs and her head is buried in his chest, but her eyes are over his shoulder watching Solo bringing up the rear. He’s bruised and his nose is bloody, but he doesn’t look any worse than Illya who is sporting a deep dark black eye. Their mission is over, U.N.C.L.E. has won and now they’re going home to lick their wounds. The three of them somehow make it back to their safe house off the coast of Croatia untailed. Solo keeps his eyes on the road the whole time, Gaby lays back in Illya’s arms and Illya pretends to watch the back of the car but they both know he’s too exhausted to watch anything. They some how make it back and between the pull out couch and the master bedroom, they all three make it to the bedroom.

There’s no muss or fuss over it. Illya refuses to let Gaby down. He carries her out of the car, hand in her hair. His fingers stroke through it with a calming motion and she tucks her head in a little closer, hand stretching out for Solo’s as he pulls down the covers on the bed. The American wastes no time in tossing off decorative pillows. They hit the ground with soft little sounds before he pulls the sheets up and out, turning down the bed. Illya sets Gaby carefully on the bed and it’s Solo who reaches over and unclips her earrings. His fingers are quick and gentle just like a thief's while Illya carefully goes for her shoes. 

Her heels are ruined. Running across the cobblestone road had ruined them, not to mention the left heel is broken. Practically splintered right down the middle from where she got caught by a storm drain, twisting her ankle and leaving her helpless in the middle of the road while their enemies came running. It was Solo who shot too close to her head, making her ears ring but it was Illya who swooped in like some sort of hero. Illya’s hands toss her ruined shoes aside and she moves her legs up a bit, letting him slide his calloused fingers up her legs. He’s so careful with her. Like she’s made of glass and if he grabs too tight, she might just break. His fingers move up to the edge of her garter belt and he carefully unsnaps her tights while Solo’s hands are moving over her back. She moves to the edge of the bed as Illya carefully rolls the delicate fabric down her tan legs and the zipper on her dress heads south as Napoleon helps out. In no time she’s nearly bare, exhaustion settling into her bones as Napoleon undoes his tie and Illya moves for his cuff links. Their perfect suits are smudged and smoke damaged. They need desperate cleaning and her dress is practically ruined. They didn’t even bother to save it. Solo had just pulled it free of her bones and tossed it aside. He leaves her in nothing but her underthings, practically naked.

Gaby crawls her way up into the center of the bed, tossing herself back into the pillows. The sheets are cool against her hot skin and it’s a shame she doesn’t have the energy for a bath. Instead she settles her gaze on her two partners. Neither one of them speaking as they undress. Their expensive suits coming off in delicate pieces, Illya folding his and Napoleon draping his own across the trunk at the end of the bed. It’s Solo who joins her first. His bruised nose brushing the line of her shoulder, hand splaying across her belly. They’re two jagged pieces of a much bigger puzzle, they somehow fit but only with Illya. Alone they are just broken, together as three, they are a masterpiece. 

Illya’s hand covers Solo’s on her stomach as he slides into bed. He is much more injured than the two of them. Exhaustion is so evident over his handsome face that Gaby resists the urge to reach out and stroke his bruised cheek. His blond head hits the pillow where he turns himself into her, curling much like a cat would. He hooks a leg around Gaby’s and his foot barely brushes Solo’s leg in the process but he links his finger’s with the American’s over Gaby’s body. They are a tangled mess of limbs with Solo’s lips on her shoulder and her head turned against the crown of Illya’s head. He smells of gunpowder and leather and it’s calming to her nerves where insomnia usually takes it’s hold. Napoleon sighs in content, warm breath brushing her shoulder and his fingers play with Illya’s before the fatigue of the night settles in. No one volunteers to keep watch. They’re safe and content for now, sinking down into a warm bed in the clutches of one another. 

Despite his best KGB training, it is Illya who is asleep first. His breathing evens out over Gaby’s shoulder and he buries himself into her side. His thumb slows it’s stroking across the back of Napoleon’s hand and he is asleep. Gaby knows his sleep won’t last long so she doesn’t move, doesn’t make a single sound so he can savor what precious sleep he does get. Napoleon is next. His face finds the crook of her neck and he’s asleep in a matter of minutes. His hand tightens on Illya’s as his other one snakes under the pillow and he is a goner. He leaves Gaby there tangled between the two of them, awake for the moment and warmed by two bodies. It’s an amazing place to be. She’s between the two hearts of the two men who love her and she loves them so much it scares her. In East Berlin loving things could be deadly and she thinks it’s no different in the field. Loving her partners is dangerous and one day it will get them killed. Right now though, right now they have each other. She has them both curled around her. She has the warm protection of Russia and the sly charms of America trapped around her gravitational pull and she intends to keep them. 

With one last look around the room, she lets her eyes close. Sleep takes a hold of the little mechanic and she lets her legs tangle with theirs. Tomorrow they can sort out their cuts and bruises, tomorrow Illya can wrap her ankle while Napoleon kisses at her scrapes. Tomorrow things will be better.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written for this OT3 before, but I do love them all so much. So sorry if there's mistakes. Didn't send to a beta and it's late. So all mistakes are mine and your comments are welcomed. Thank you for being amazing. I accept prompts @elektranatchiohs


End file.
